


Your Hands are Scarred From Murder (and Yet I Trust Them Completely)

by paisparker



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Assassin Harley Keener, Assassins & Hitmen, BAMF Harley Keener, BAMF Tony Stark, Bisexual Peter Parker, Gay Harley Keener, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Harley Keener-centric, High School, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Harley Keener, Morally Ambiguous Tony Stark, Murder, Parent Tony Stark, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Protective Harley Keener, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, human peter parker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28499481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paisparker/pseuds/paisparker
Summary: Harley Keener, an assassin trained and brought up by Tony Stark—the owner of Stark Industries, has wanted nothing more than a normal life since the day he killed his father. When Tony’s secret son stumbles into the picture, is it possible that he holds the key to the teenage normality Harley desires? Or will their lives become an entangled mess of danger and secrets? Only time will tell.
Relationships: (side), Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Shuri, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Shuri, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 61





	1. PROLOGUE

AGE 12 - ROSEHILL TENNESSEE 

It was cold, it was dark, and he was damp with sticky and crimson blood, running off his body under the rain pouring down from the sky. It felt as though the sky was weeping with him. His legs were moving on autopilot; there was no way of telling just how long he’d been running for exactly, but the burn in his lungs and the passings of unfamiliar scenery indicated it had been quite some time since he first set foot into his dash. 

There were no police on his tail, and no figure of malice chasing him in the night, yet he ran and ran and ran as though rabid dogs were snapping their jaws at his ankles. He ran from what he’d done until his legs gave way with exhaustion and he stumbled into an alleyway between apartment buildings, body shivering with cold, and with tears that he allowed to spill over into a quiet, shaking sob. 

It was a miracle that no one had seen him outside their windows and attempted to stop him, but at an hour so late, it was also something he was grateful for; had police been searching for him the fear of the situation would have only escalated. 

He had no idea for certain whether or not someone had found the lifeless body of his father yet, but knowing that they rarely had visitors—aside from the occasional drunken whore his father had reeled in from a night at the bar when he had money that should’ve been going towards groceries or bills, it was likely that no one would for quite some time. 

Harley’s mother, Macy, along with his sister Abigail—who hadn’t even made it to the age of one, had died in a car wreck when he was younger. The three of them had been on their way home from the laundromat when a semi-truck had swerved into the wrong lane and crushed the driver’s area of their car, and Abigail’s carrier. Six year old Harley had been the only survivor, and it was something his father Tim had never let him forget, drilling guilt into him through sharp words and even sharper slaps to the face and kicks to the gut since the day following. 

But that was over now. Now, he was the last survivor of them all, and his father’s claims that he was a killer, rang truer than ever.

So there he sat, slumped up against a wall in the pouring rain at night, stained with blood and trauma to last a lifetime. Too far out of it with his overwhelming emotions, he did not notice the car slow to a stop outside the alley. Nor did he hear the footsteps approaching him, with shoes splashing lightly in the puddles. 

The stranger peered over the cowering boy, eyes looking over the blood on him in curiosity. “What’s your name kid?”

Harley startled, looking up to see a man with a strange goatee, and dark sunglasses, shielding his eyes entirely. “H-Harley.” He stuttered out.

“Harley, huh?” The man repeated, making him nod. “Well, I don’t know what happened, and I don’t care. But was it fatal?”

The blonde gave him a questioning look, expression still exuding fear. 

“You’ve got blood on you, and by the looks of it, you don’t got a scratch on you, so it must be someone else’s. So I ask again, was it fatal?”

Harley gulped and his eyes began to sting with tears once more. He wasn’t even sure when he had stopped. He nodded again, shakily.

The man hummed in a bemused tone, and stared at him for a moment longer. “Okay, come on. You look like a twig who hasn’t slept in weeks. Get you some pizza and rest or something.” He stated, then turned on his feet to walk towards the car: a sleek black Rolls-Royce.

Harley didn’t move.

The man looked back at him. “Well are you coming or not? I haven’t got all night.” 

“How can I trust you?” He asked.

“Easy answer: you can’t. Long answer: I don’t care if you do or if you don’t but I’m offering you food and a bed and I promise most people you’re gonna see out here aren’t gonna be looking to give you anything except a one way ticket to a fuckin’ sex trafficking ring and I’d feel better if I didn’t let some kid on the street get tossed into that shit. Come or you don’t, whatever, but make the decision quick. Yes or no?”

Harley looked at the man, then at the car, and then back at him.

“Yes or no kid?”

He stood up weakly, and nodded his head once more.

“Good. Come on.” 

“Wait.” Harley paused. “What’s… What’s the catch?” He asked.

The man shifted his weight on his feet. “I need someone to work for me. You ever held a gun before?” 

The boy shook his head no, concern building up inside him over the question.

“I’ll teach you. Teach ya lots of things you’ll need to survive in the world you’re about to hop into.” He hit the car door twice. “Hop in.”

Harley walked over and sat in the passenger's seat hesitantly, then began to scan his eyes around the sight of the expensive car. It had most definitely cost more than everything he had ever owned combined. The stereo system lit up an electric blue, matching the LEDs lining the hood’s interior. 

The stranger pulled the gear shift out of park, and began to drive, the engine revving loudly as they took off down the street unknown to the blonde young boy.

“What’s your name?” He asked the man.

“Anthony Stark.” He turned his head to face the kid. “But you can call me Tony.”

“Stark? Like the electronic stores?”

“I prefer the term tech industry but, essentially, yeah.” Tony confirmed.

Harley wiped the tears out of his eyes with the back of his sleeve, mood changing slightly. “Is that how you can afford such a fancy car?”

“Yup.”

“So… Do you have a fancy house too?”

“It’s pretty nice, not a mansion or anything since I try to stay under the radar but it’s… Did anyone ever tell you that you ask a lot of questions? Didn't you hear what happened to the cat?” The man—Tony, sighed.

“Satisfaction brought it back?” Harley suggested cheekily.

Tony looked at him again, quirking an amused half-grin. “You know what? You and I are gonna get along just fine kid.” He told him. “Just fine.”


	2. CHAPTER ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...I have people who can make all this,” He gestured up and down to Harley. “look like an accident.” 
> 
> —
> 
> a small insight into harley’s unconventional profession

CHAPTER ONE — AGE 17

Most of the people who knew Harley’s name were dead. That being said, if you weren’t Tony Stark himself, and you knew Harley’s name, chances were you would not live to speak it much longer. However, this went unknown to becoming victims. _”They are the aggressor Harley. Not us. They are simply…” Tony waved his arm nonchalantly. “Paying their dues.”_ Was the correction the blonde boy recalled from some years prior when he referred to them as such.

“Who is this boy and why does he join us in this meeting?” Asked an employee of Stark Industries—one Harley took no noted name of, snapping the boy out of his reverie. “And sir… Might I ask why I have been called to a private meeting? It is an honor to meet you once more, truly, though I am confused to say the least.”

“Yes _sir_ , might I ask the same?” Harley said, mocking the formality of the employee.

“Well Mr. Gutes Guterman,”

Harley smirked to himself at the ridiculous name.

“Thank you for enticing my ego. As for him? Don’t mind him just yet. I asked you to join me today to discuss some personal matters of business. Now your uh, resumé stated that you are a former children’s book author, yes?” Stark questioned.

Guterman nodded

“You must love writing stories then, huh? Creating whole intricate universes with characters driven from the depths of your mind right into the tips of your fingers and onto a page…Why is that? What…Part about writing kept you at it?” He continued, all whilst walking leisurely down the long table with fingers grazing the heads of the chairs.

“W-Well I don’t write anymore, but when I did I always found that it was the building something out of nothing, y-yknow? Thinking that this, like you called it, universe, that didn’t previously exist, came into fruition by the power of the imagination.” The man responded.

Harley let out a silent and nasally laugh and tossed his shoes up onto the table.

“Harley don’t scuff the table.” Tony told him, voice underlying with a tone of mischief. 

The boy put his shoes back down on the grey carpeted floor and leaned forward with interest, eyebrow arching at the sound of his name. This employee had done something which angered Anthony Stark, and with the confirmation of hearing his denomination uttered from him, Gutes Guterman was a dead man walking.

“Yes, Mr. Guterman. In fact I’m quite perspicacious—that is understanding on a personal level, with the concept of the great magnum opus. You wanna know what my magnum opus is?”

Guterman sat up with intrigue.

“Typically a magnum opus is a piece of literature, or song… A piece of art. But what truly is art if not subjective? Art can be anything you create. I could slap together a bunch of garbage pieces and boom!” He snapped. “Art.” Tony paused for a moment, enunciating the dramatic effect on his words. “So my piece of art, my magnum opus, my pièce de résistance if you will… Are my inventions. The ones I envisioned myself and set forth for employees to continue developing. They aren’t just pieces of machinery, they’re like…” He inhaled.” They’re like my kids. And I love my kids. So naturally, it hurts, when your children are taken from you. You catch my drift?”

Gutes was sweating, and his hands gripped at the sides of his pants tightly, clenching and unclenching in a nervous habit. 

“You see Mr. Guterman, I don’t like thieves. And I definitely don’t like thieves who try and sell my work to rivals. Oh but don’t worry! I have a guy who intercepted the information before it was placed into the wrong hands again. Harley, eliminate the threat.”

Harley smirked and began to stand up.

“N-No! No wait! Wait you can’t do this I have a family!” Guterman cried out, standing up and backing himself up into a corner as Harley stalked over to him threateningly.

Tony used his watch to pull up a projection of a building interior. “Single man, one bedroom apartment rented out three years ago, previously living with his mother who was transported to a nursing home because of her dementia. Unless you count that plant of yours hanging in the windowsill as family… Nobody will miss you quite so much. And I have people who can make all this,” He gestured up and down to Harley. “look like an accident.” 

“No! Please! Please I’m sorry I’m sorry!” He yelled again.

Stark walked over to the door and opened it, stepping out freely. “Clean up when your done.” He called out over his shoulder, letting the door close and drowning out the sound of frightened and pained screams with noise restrictive walls. 

_Nobody messed with his kids._

✞

Harley didn’t love his job. And this certainly wasn’t saying that he loathed it either, just… That work was work. He got up, did what he was assigned to do, and went on with his life. There was no thrill of the kill for him, and the fear went away years ago. It was more of a numb experience now. Robotic. Tony would occasionally come across a mole in the company, or some men who put on hit on his life, and Harley would get sent to take care of it. He had no qualms with getting messy, much to the man’s distaste, but depending on the circumstance, he made his due. 

Every once in awhile he’d come cross someone with a bad criminal record, and Harley would take his sweet time with those ones, drawing out their pain and misery as he believed they deserved. As he was told they deserved. 

And so maybe if he tortured murderers longer than his usual targets, that made him a hypocrite, but he had to find some enjoyment in life somehow. Despite the fact that it never worked. 

No amount of sliced off nails or teeth pulled or small blades stabbed into the body—only enough to kill in dozens, made him feel happy. But it didn’t make him feel guilty either. He had no remorse or sympathy to give to the lives he took. They were just as bad as him. Some, eminently worse.

In his nights of self reflection, wondering about potential ways to stop the endless void of apathy, he found his dreams drift into confusing illusions of himself, staring into the mantle of a fireplace and unable to turn around. A voice would speak from behind him, saying unintelligible things which Harley could not understand, nor would his mouth open to question. His head ran wild with thoughts of who and why and what this person wanted, yet none of his curiosities felt ill tempered. Perhaps it was the phantom warmth of the fire in his dreams, but the unknown figure's presence brought a sense of contentment to him. In a world without this mysterious being, he woke up alone.

**Author's Note:**

> i am excited to begin writing this! for now it is simply a parkner au, however my future hopes are to translate it into an original story with altercations made to complete that. I hope this short prologue is enjoyed! future chapters will be longer.
> 
> twitter: harlskeener  
> tumblr: harlstark  
> instagram: harlskeener


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